Hanging by a Thread
by Cybra
Summary: His sanity and life hung by a thread that he was fully prepared to cut with the knife before him...


Hanging by a Thread  
By Cybra

**A/N:**  Well, Brad, you asked for it!  Here's _my_ end of the deal!  Now, this story ends abruptly for a reason.  You _readers get to choose your own ending.  Let your imaginations go nuts!  Just enjoy!_

**Disclaimer:**  Ed, Edd, 'n' Eddy belongs to someone other than me.  So there.  P

The sharp blade glittered even in the dim light of late afternoon.  Upon the clean countertop it sat, mocking him.  Even in the fading light he could see the telltale crimson smears on the mahogany handle, invisible to most but screaming their individual stories to him.

Double D remembered how every smear got onto that knife, remembered how the source of those smears had oozed out of the thin yet deep slices on his legs.  Oh no.  He didn't simply slash at his arms when the agony became too great.  His shirt would never be able to hide the scars, but his pants and socks hid the fading, older white marks perfectly along with the angry, newer red marks.

Why did someone so obsessed with cleanliness do something as disgusting as cut himself?  Why especially would he do that with a knife that hadn't been washed very well simply because he was afraid his mother might notice something wrong?

Because his very sanity hung by a thread.  Taunts and jeers rang in his ears not just from those who could easily be considered his enemies but from friends as well.  Some masochistic part of his own mind kept him awake at night repeating the name calling from those he considered his best friends along with the other denizens of the cul-de-sac.  Lying awake for hours, crying silently in the darkness, each cruel word would slash at his heart like a miniature knife.

Such late nights had their consequences, of course.  As he fought to please his only friends, he began fighting his own personality.  He would willingly spend time at the city dump though every fiber of his being screamed for him to go home and soak in a long bath of disinfectant.  Using his natural brilliance to bring to life Eddy's latest schemes, some part of his soul begged for him to stop.

This led to even more late nights of lying awake and arguing with himself, trying to convince himself that he was simply having fun with his friends.

Around and around the arguments with himself would go.  Sometimes, these arguments would last until the sun began to creep over the horizon.  Sometimes these arguments would last even through Eddy's latest scams, splitting his concentration between his hard, under appreciated (and often belittled) work and his latest bit of justification.  Then when his newest creation failed due to him overlooking a minor detail when he had been fighting the ongoing war within himself, Eddy would scream insults at him.

The knife glittered once more, as if calling out to him, "Pick me up and do it.  Let me take you away from this place."

Slowly, he reached out a trembling hand.  The handle smeared with crimson lay just beneath his hovering fingertips.

"Just do it," the knife beckoned. "Just think about it: no more pain.  You want that, don't you?"

Of course he didn't want any more pain.  He didn't want the pain of knowing that every child in the entire cul-de-sac despised him.  He didn't want the pain of knowing that his father didn't give a rat's rear about him unless the man could make a profit.  He didn't want the pain of knowing that his mother, despite her best efforts, was hardly there to simply hold him and tell him everything was all right.

Lowering his hand and wrapping his fingers loosely yet firmly around the handle, he picked up the blade.  The skin of his hand crawled upon touching the filthy handle, an automatic reaction.  Once more his body fought with his will and mind, screaming at him to stop.

He froze, closing his eyes tightly to fight the war inside him.  Was this a form of schizophrenia?  If it was, he was even closer to total insanity than he had originally thought.

Resting the edge of the blade against his left wrist, the knife seemed to purr, "Yes, that's right.  Just two little slashes, a little bleeding, and it's all over."

The inner battle raged onward, straining the last thread of his sanity.  Now his life and sanity rested literally on a knife-edge.  All it would take would be two little slashes, and then it would all end.

A sudden pounding on the front door reached his attention.  "Double Dweeb!  I know you're in there!"

"Kevin…?" the boy mumbled to himself.

Yes, it most certainly was the redhead who ruled the cul-de-sac.  He came to him twice a week for tutoring sessions.  Today was one of those days.

The pounding stopped after a moment.  A few minutes later, just as Double D finally won the war within himself and almost slashed his wrist, a worried voice called from the backyard, searching for some way to get in, "Double D?  Are you okay in there?"

_'No, Kevin,'_ Edd answered silently. _'I'm not.  But everything's going to be okay now…'_

As the sound of someone forcing open the sliding glass door reached his ears, the knife quickly slid across two wrists.

**A/N:**  So what happened to Double D?  Did he die or did Kevin manage to save him?  I don't know.  It's up to your imaginations now.  This story's over.  And why did I use Kevin instead of, say, Ed and Eddy?  Because after watching a few episodes, I have the weird theory that maybe Kevin might get to like Double D if they ever spent any time alone together.  Anyway, if you guys want a continuation of this story, you'll have to think it up yourselves.  If you write anything down and want to post it, just e-mail me and ask first, okay?  I'm willing to share the wealth if you ask!


End file.
